


Springtrap's Fucking Pissed

by zavegonzo



Series: Random Ficlets [10]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Death, Dehumanization, Ficlet, Filicide, Gore Without Plot, OK To Comment, Oneshot, Spoilers, The Night Guard Sucks At Their Job AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22841230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zavegonzo/pseuds/zavegonzo
Summary: Springtrap kills the night guard.That's it. ‾\_(ツ)_/‾
Series: Random Ficlets [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1340926
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Springtrap's Fucking Pissed

To put it simply, Springtrap was fucking pissed. Who wouldn’t be, in his situation? Who wouldn’t get pissed at being forced to live in a mechanical rabbit suit for thirty years after dying in it in an attempt to escape the angry spirits of five children who had been killed by them?

…OK, maybe most people wouldn’t relate to the “escaping the spirits of murdered children” part, but the rest of Springtrap’s point still stood. This was essentially a living hell, and he wanted nothing more than to escape it. But the room he had been trapped in had no exits or weapons—he couldn’t get out literally or through suicide, and he doubted that suicide would work, anyway. If being stabbed with springlocks in his entire body didn’t get rid of him, then what would?

He thought it was just a dream when he was discovered and then brought to Fazbear’s Fright. After the humans who brought him there finally left the room, he spent a few hours standing around and staring at his new surroundings. He didn’t move a single servo until around midnight, when he finally got the nerve to go and explore the rest of the horror attraction.

He still felt pissed, but also intrigued. From what he had gathered from eavesdropping to the humans, this place was inspired by rumors of horrific things happening at Freddy Fazbear’s. It was disappointing to know that even after all this time, the murders had never been forgotten, but at least nobody seemed to have figured out exactly what had happened.

The place was dimly lit and decorated with all sorts of Fazbear memorabilia. It made Springtrap feel a little nostalgic. The shitty paper dolls of the animatronics hanging on the walls, with their childish construction, reminded him of how satisfying it was to kill those kids. It had been so long since the last time his bloodthirst was quenched…

A blinking light on an old security camera caught his eye, and he realized this place probably had a security guard. Hmm… It would be a bit of a challenge to kill an adult, but Springtrap was up for a little challenge. It was already a challenge spending thirty years in solitary confinement. Plus, it would be really satisfying to shed someone’s blood again. It would really ease his frustrasions.

Springtrap gleefully skipped down the polished floors, hoping he was heading toward the guard’s office, when someone laughed from behind him. It sounded like… a child?

Abandoning all of his critical thinking skills, Springtrap turned around and hopped in the direction of the laugh. The only thing better than killing a man was—in his eyes, at least—killing a small, defenseless child!

However, there was no small, defenseless child. Springtrap looked around, but there wasn’t a single soul in sight.

And then he noticed that the security cameras had tiny speakers attached to them. He lingered right in the blind spot of one of them, and sure enough, a recording of a child laughing played after a few minutes.

Springtrap facepalmed (or rather, snoutpalmed). The child’s laughter was just a distraction, to keep him away from someplace. The guard’s office, most likely.

Now even more pissed than before, Springtrap sauntered his way down the halls again, paying no mind to the increasingly frequent laughter. If he had a functioning mouth, he would have been salivating at the thought of reaching into the security guard’s body and pulling out their organs, letting viscera spill all over the place.

He stopped in one hallway front of a window. It showed a small room, filled with boxes and junk. A feeble-looking male was sitting in a pristine office chair that looked out of place in this otherwise withered environment. It was holding a tablet in one hand and furiously tapping it with the other, muttering, “Where is it… Where the fuck is it…”

Laughter came from a distant end of the building. Springtrap casually walked across the hall and creeped next to the doorframe, staring at the night guard.

“Fuck…” The guard lowered its tablet, glanced around, and promptly gave a loud, high-pitched shriek when he saw Springtrap staring at it.

Springtrap swore he could feel himself smile, despite not having facial muscles. He and the guard got into a bit of a staring contest for a few minutes, and then he stepped inside.

The guard tried to scramble backwards to keep some distance, but the office was small, and there was nothing it could do to keep Springtrap at bay.

Springtrap grabbed the guard’s shoulder with one hand and its neck with the other. Its eyes were wide with pinprick pupils, and it was already hyperventilating. He grabbed the hand around his neck and tried to pry it away. At this, Springtrap’s imaginary smile only widened. He loved it when his prey tried to fight back.

The guard yelped as Springtrap lifted it up with inhuman strength. It clawed at Springtrap’s arms and kicked its legs, but Springtrap only laughed—well, it was more of a mechanical wheeze, but it got the message across. The guard was completely at Springtrap’s mercy—and he didn’t feel very merciful.

After a minute of thought, Springtrap decided on just how he wanted to kill the guard. Springtrap loosened his grip, which initially made the guard smile nervously, but its smile was soon replaced with a scream as it was unceremoniously tossed onto the floor like a wet paper towel. The office chair was knocked back by the force of the throw.

The guard gasped and panted, the air having been knocked out of it. Springtrap raised his leg and stomped down on the guard’s back with his sharp metal foot. There was a loud crunch and another scream. When he raised his foot, the sole was dripping with blood, and there was a large gash across the guard’s back and side. Its uniform and skin had been torn open.

Oh, how disappointing. This was going way faster than Springtrap wanted. He would need to be careful in order to prolong this…

He gingerly picked up the guard by the back of its collar like a newborn kitten. It looked up at him fearfully and trembled, but made no attempt to fight back. Springtrap took its hand into his own, and…

Rip! There went its hand! …Along with its arm, oops!

The guard screamed again and grabbed the stump where its right arm used to be, which gushed a waterfall of blood onto the floor—and a little bit onto the office chair. Springtrap mentally chastised himself. He needed to be more aware of his newfound strength.

He tried grabbing the guard’s mouth in order to shut it up, but ended up bitch-slapping it instead, knocking it back onto the floor. It looked up at Springtrap and whimpered through its bruised lips. He simply kneeled down and inspected it for a moment.

Its skin had turned a light purple. Judging from how pale it was, and how much blood was leaking from it, it was probably moments away from—wait, _purple?!_

Springtrap did a double take, and yup, this guard had purple skin. That wasn’t something he’d ever seen before. People usually turn purple _after_ dying.

He stared at the guard’s face. It looked oddly familiar now that he wasn’t just viewing it as something to destroy. But he couldn’t place where he had seen such a face before…

…until he looked at the name tag.

Mike.

That… No way. It had to be a coincidence. It _had_ to be. There was no chance in hell this guard could possibly be his son. The name was the same… The face shape was the same… The skin color was different, but then again, he didn’t really notice a problem with ~~his~~ its skin until right this moment, so maybe it still looked normal before… but, no. No, no, no. This was impossible.

But coming back after death as an animatronic was also “impossible”, and he’d seen that with his own eyes.

What a hell of a coincidence. Springtrap felt as though that whatever gods controlled his fate were laughing at him from the heavens. _How do you like that, dipshit? You ripped off the arm of your own son without a second thought!_

Well, he may as well get it over with. It wasn’t like he could call an ambulance or anything.

He pinned ~~his son~~ _the guard_ to the ground with one hand and drove his other right through its chest, breaking its ribs. Like some sort of sloppy Aztec sacrifice, he grabbed its heart and ripped it out. Blood gently trickled from the organ with each weak beat.

A wet slap echoed through the room as the heart hit the ground. Springtrap fell limp.

The guard was dead. Springtrap was covered in blood.

Ugh, this was gonna be a bitch to clean. He couldn’t let this mess sit here—There was no way this place was as good at coverups as Freddy Fazbear’s…

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like writing gore. I'm not really used to writing gory stuff like this, so let me know if I did alright!


End file.
